


Remember Remember (The Fifth of November)

by Lorelainoir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelainoir/pseuds/Lorelainoir
Summary: Gawain is as shocked and elated as the rest of the wizarding world to learn of the fall of the most evil wizard who has ever existed, even if the lack of a body is... troubling. Unfortunately, fear, danger, and most regrettable of all, loss, can still occur even after the first head of the dragon has been vanquished.
Relationships: Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom/Neville's grandad, Kingsley Shacklebolt/OC )mentioned only), Lily Potter/James Potter (mentioned only), Rufus Scrimgeour/Gawain Robards
Kudos: 1





	Remember Remember (The Fifth of November)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday present for my best friend, whose only request was Gawain/Rufus in the first war. At their suggestion, post squee over their completed gift, I'm sharing it with the archive.  
> If you like it, please leave kudos and comments. If you don't like it, I'm really Raven_Cromwell using this account, a fine fic author in their own right and the birthday recipient of this piece.

know;p>Going by the state of the people in and out of the Laughing Lynx, Gawain Robards was fairly sure every witch and wizard in Britain had lost all recollection of the laws that kept their world secure from Muggles. Everywhere he looked the International Statute of Secrecy was being bludgeoned, and since this pub was exclusive to members of Magical Law Enforcement and owned and operated by Madam Kaileen Barnnard, a woman shrewd enough to keep her place of business under a Fidelius Charm for her clients' protection, that was saying something.

No one bothered to Transfigure their robes and cloaks into Muggle things as they swayed or skipped out the door, singing at the top of their lungs or dancing—with much flailing—down the street before Disapparating. Though that was tame compared to people who were truly soused and not just high on euphoria, freedom, and relief.

Inside the pub figures embraced, Conjured showers of confetti, or set off brilliant firecrackers, accompanied by harps or birdsong. (Everyone seemed to be avoiding the usual bangs that went along with such spells—even the fireworks were a little muted—an unconscious kindness for anyone suffering from what the Dark side had done.) Back beyond the windowpane, Gawain glimpsed sparklers writing on their own, glasses floating unsupported, and ... he couldn't think of a reason for why that knot of people were all cuddling kitties, but smiled despite himself.

He waved, and the group paused in whatever they were doing to grin over at his camera.

Slipping it into a pocket of his cloak and turning his back on the window, he looked at Rufus, who was leaning back in his chair with a look of heavy-lidded contentment, and said, "I don't envy the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee for the next few days."

Rufus snorted. "What makes you think they will be working in the next few days. They had to use the same excuses for eleven years; they deserve a break."

"Everyone will be getting one now they don't have to worry about their friends or families anymore," Gawain agreed.

"He's gone." This last was said on a breath of wondrous disbelief.

And then again, "He's gone!", on a laugh that set Gawain's nerves ablaze. For far too long that laugh had occasionally come in the dead of night or close to dawn, after two or three rounds of sex, started just so they could feel something other than the weight of lives on their shoulders.

It ended, at least for Gawain, in feelings of love and tenderness as fragile as a soap bubble if he let himself think about You-Know-Who. Which was usually when he said something that inspired that laugh.

Hearing it now, in the combined glow of fire and candlelight, he felt his grin actually pull a muscle in his cheeks. "To Harry Potter," he raised his glass.

"The Boy Who Lived."

Rufus wasn't the only person to finish what had become the response to this call. The toast was a staple of every party, feast and random gathering Gawain had seen throughout the day.

He wasn't sure he liked the name, not that his opinion mattered. It belonged to such a singular moment in history, but was so simple; unlike Herpo the Foul, Uric the Oddball, Faris "Spout-hole" Spavin... but then none of those examples were positive.

It made Gawain think of something he'd tried to bring up earlier, and this time Rufus wasn't going to distract him—albeit unintentionally—from making his point. There were no emergency cots in the main room of the Lynx, though they hadn't gotten to really use the one in the training room before Head Auror Finn McDermott had made a speech, and many had lingered in a celebratory din of chatter while he and Crouch talked. Having no one outside the Ministry to talk to, Gawain and Rufus had listened before searching for where to celebrate.

"It's just so bizarre that there was no b-"

"No! You had your bloody Ravenclaw indulgence tonight."

"Hardly," he said, with an effort at nonchalants.

"Moody finds the lack of a body concerning, you heard him."

"Because there should have been a body!" He couldn't exactly blame Rufus, or practically every witch and wizard in the area for refusing to see the oddity, but he was insistent. "Even if you go with the supposition that a ... rebounding Killing Curse," The enormity of the idea made him pause before and after saying it, "destroyed the body because the intent behind the curse has to ensure something doesn't exist, there wasn't even a pile of robes."

Rufus through back his Firewhiskey. "You are talking about a man that the full mite of the Auror office and the recklessness of Dumbledore's civilian group could not kill." The mention of the vigilantes was said with less rancor than usual. They were having this conversation because a baby was an orphan; he made a mental note to look in on Frank and Alice, they'd been friends with the Potters. "It went beyond coincidence. This... evaporation may have been the only way for He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named to die, with all the Dark Magic he'd used." Rufus would know; his eyes had gained a yellowish cast from his frequent uses of the Imperius Curse.

"That's a fair theory, but not definitive evidence."

"Moody will speak to Barty," Rufus pacified, "And probably Bagnold and Dumbledore for all we know. I'm sure he will include you in such discussions."

"I don't care whether I'm mentioned," Gawain lied. "And you heard Crouch, he thinks getting blown ups a fitting end for You-know-Who. I still have that book I checked out about death magic, from when we had to question that ghost, remember? I'm sure there was a chapter on," he stood, intending to retrieve the book, but Rufus's hand darted out and gripped his sleeve.

"You aren't going to your study to ponder something about that madman." The commanding tone was softened by the stubborn jutting of his jaw, which told Gawain he was dealing with the man, not the senior Auror. A spark of anticipation lit through him, demanding recognition, despite his hunch there was still some puzzle to be solved.

Rufus let go of Gawain to come round to his side of the table, never breaking eye contact, and gestured toward the back, where the private parlors were. Kaileen had opened them along with her upstairs rooms for the night, and Aurors, Hitwizards, and her ladies (trained in waiting tables, offering emotional comfort, and basic defense) had been disappearing and reappearing with abandon. With the way Rufus was scanning the crowd, anyone who saw them would have thought they were discussing someone who'd taken advantage of the generosity.

His pulse raced. Tonight of all nights no one would be keeping watch on who came and went; there'd be no members of MLE literally looking after each other in the midst of panic and confusion.

It was liberating, and damn him, a perfect distraction.

In lockstep, they headed for the same private parlor. Gawain secured the door behind them, activating its Imperturbable Charm.

They melted into each other in a forceful kiss. He let himself be shoved up against a wall and barely felt his back hit the darkened corner. His arms went around Rufus's neck, hands curling and uncurling in his tawny hair.

The feel of it, the weight and texture, still flooded Gawain with sensation, and always made it clear the daydreams he'd had ages ago of doing this very thing never lived up to the reality. Little as house traits mattered outside Hogwarts when it came to... whatever they were, it took a lot to make a Ravenclaw delight in their imagination's inadequacy.

***

There was glorious euphoria in knowing you, and the man you occasionally woke up with, were not going to disappear or turn up Imperiused after being called into work. Even as they talked shop over coffee from a kiosk near the wizarding section of Hyde Park, something no Auror had felt safe enough to do for at least a year, it was with a sense that they were finally—finally!—walking on familiar ground after years of quicksand laced with Devil's Snare.

It was the day of Bonfire Night for the Muggles. Sirius Black, apparently a wolf in sheep's clothing, was sitting in a cell in Azkaban after Barty Crouch had reviewed the evidence given to him. Reports had come in of hoodwinked people working for the Dark side, and though he was disinclined to believe Lucius Malfoy was one of them, a trial would allow more open-mindedness than instinct honed and unshaken by school rivalry.

The Prophet's latest headline only contributed to Gawain's, and the public's, delight in the odd flux between relieved freedom and normalcy: "I assert our inalienable right to party!", Minister Defends Numerous International Statute of Secrecy Breaches to International Confederation of Wizards. It balanced out the sadness, which he observed with remote sympathy, that Harry Potter was now living with his Muggle relatives. Countless Muggleborns, himself included, had gotten over the disappointment that the wizarding world held no flying bubbles, fairy godmothers, or the words hocus pocus; Potter would be fine until eleven, if perhaps a little shocked by his instant celebrity upon re-entry.

"How many reports on Death Eaters do you think will be on Finn's desk by the time we get back to the office?" Rufus asked, leaning back on the bench they'd procured.

Gawain Vanished his cup. "I'd hazard a guess, but I don't think you'd like it."

"Somewhere close to the near thousand people who came forward to tell us all of their misdemeanors when it broke Aurors could use the Unforgivables," Rufus sighed.

"Is that the top bet for the pool?" Gawain laughed lightly, reaching for his camera and checking the remaining film.

"No idea. How is that not full yet?"

"I've developed the November first shots."

Through the camera he watched the play of light caught in the mane of Rufus's hair, adjusting the view-finder. As much as he liked the sight—

"No." The harshness with which Rufus uttered the syllable matched the now compressed line of his mouth.

"Of course not. Not when you look like that."

"Not ever, thank you."

"After Halloween, I hardly think anyone can impose any kind of limitations on what will never happen," Gawain teased, before lowering the camera. There was no point in pressing when a more appropriate, photogenic opportunity would eventually present itself and he could be less obvious about seizing it.

Rufus straightened and Vanished his own cup. "It will be interesting to see what the boy makes of himself in twenty years or so."

"He's an orphan who can't even walk yet, and if there's any mercy in the world won't have any memories of"—the murders, the murder attempt, Godric's Hollow, Halloween?—"that. Stop thinking about whether or not you'll be retired if he joins the Aurors; it's ghoulish."

"It is hardly your place to chastise me considering the track your thoughts took about He-Who-Must-NOT-Be-Named's body."

"Not that I reached a conclusion on that."

A warning chirp sounded from Rufus's two-way mirror, followed by Moody's gruff, "Scrimgeour, it's urgent."

"It's always urgent if you are calling, Alastor," Rufus replied, holding the mirror too close for Gawain to see the other man's expression, so as not to miss any coded cues Moody might be telegraphing.

"And I haven't over-exaggerated yet." There was a pause, Gawain's heart started racing for no reason, then Moody continued in a lower, gentler growl. "We need experienced people for this one. Finn's in meetings, and Connor and Dougal are doing security on the Potter place."

Connor McGrath and Dougal McPherson, senior Aurors on Moody and Rufus's level, were a necessity, as the crowds that had flocked to see what remained of the ruin had swollen to droves when someone had taken a prowling cat to the Magical Menagerie. Rumor said it was the Potters', and now people from three to a hundred and ten hoped to take home or somehow rescue something that had once been part of Harry Potter's early infancy.

"Anyone else with you?"

"Auror Robards."

Gawain expected Moody to say something like, "Thought you'd stopped inflicting your company on a former trainee, Rufus.", a half teasing, half suspicious reproof. Not because Alastor Moody was a prude, but because he had no qualms about saying he sometimes thought Rufus a bad influence.

The slight hitch in Moody's inhalation made Gawain tense. Beside him, Rufus did as well, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses to hide some reaction from both of them. Anger, Gawain guessed, though he couldn't say whether an expression in the mirror or Rufus's mind leaping to suspicions had earned the initial flare of that almost legendary temper.

"Shacklebolt needs backup. I can't do it."

Bitterness suffused those four words. Moody was days away from completing a physical therapy course, learning how to use his newly acquired wooden leg. He'd had a session yesterday and had been openly hoping to get ahead of the Healers' timetable. He was sanguine about the learning curve except when his colleagues needed assistance he could have provided, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, having only qualified in May, still had a lot to learn.

"Where?" Rufus asked.

"The Longbottoms. Neighbors reported a disturbance."

Whether because Frank's weaknesses were Alice's strengths and vice versa, or because the couple were work and life partners, it took a lot to subdue the two. Especially at home—a chill crept into Gawain's bone marrow as he recalled the last time he'd seen their son, transfixed with wonder as his mum filled the nursery with Droobles Blowing Gum's bluebell-colored bubbles.

Rufus shot him a questioning look: Did he want to come? Could he, was he emotionally compromised?

He nodded. This was truly dangerous if Aurors were being contacted—no one had realized the Dark Magic implications of Black's murders until everyone below the Auror office had taken stock of the crime—and Frank and Alice were friends as well as colleagues. He owed them more than he could put into words for the advice, lessons, care, and fun they'd given him when he'd been put on a team before qualifying.

All of this happened over two seconds, and Rufus nodded in turn before telling the mirror, "On our way."

***

They stood outside the gate of Fairfarrne, the Longbottom home Alice had once told him was, "named after a lovely term given to us by someone talking to my fictional Muggle namesake—so much more character than Shafiq Place". There was no point getting a lay of the land by peering through the bars, as the house had previously belonged to a staunch pure-blood family (perhaps tall gates were deemed good riffraff deterrent) whose only prerequisite for selling was the buyer appear on the so-called Sacred Twenty-eight directory.

Rufus ran his hands over the gate as Gawain held up his wand and spoke the incantations that would reveal wards, completing the process. Someone might have destroyed the protective enchantments only to replace them with a subtle, or crude trap.

Rufus shook his head. The wards at the gate were still in tact.

They Apparated and approached the house, a two-story with windowboxes winking in the light of the front facing upper floors.

Dipping into the double vision that belonged to a Seer's apocryphal Inner Eye, Gawain saw the traces of enchantments like a haphazard puzzle around the front door. The wards should have looked like a latticework of differently hued lights interwoven with wisps of smoke and mist to represent the spells that weren't heralded by sight or sound. Instead, a dark stain marred the brighter hues of protective magic, and as he narrowed his eyes for a better look, stepping closer, it multiplied into twenty more discolorations and flashed a fiery red.

Throwing a hand over his eyes although in reality nothing had happened, he bit back a cry. Rufus whirled on him.

"I'm fine. Someone's a very blunt wardsmith, if they even warrant the name," he growled. "They broke what they needed to on the door and left some surprises for anyone who didn't look before they leapt."

"How insulting."

After a hard blink, he braced himself and looked up. No Dark Mark—his mind had immediately went to Death Eaters. Surely that had to mean-

Rufus must have sent a Speaking Spell to Shacklebolt because he Apparated on his other side.

"Report," Rufus told him.

"The door's been compromised. It's been sealed, and if you touch it in any way it will burn you."

He held up a hand to reveal burned fingers, then gestured to the sock peeping out from his right boot. "I thought kicking down the door might work. Few wizards prepare for a Muggle attack, but someone in there obviously did."

"You should have waited for us," Gawain told him, not unkindly. "I could have warned you not to touch anything. That burn spread, didn't it?"

Shacklebolt nodded.

"Someone in there knows about Gringotts's protections for high-security vaults and decided to play," Gawain explained, then added at the younger man's arched eyebrow. "I've got a friend in Goblin Liaison and that's as much as I know."

"What about the back door," Rufus urged.

"I think the enchantments are still in tact, but wards aren't my forte," said Shacklebolt, with an admirable lack of chagrin considering his injury and apparently non-repairable boot. "That's why I called for backup."

"Gai?" That was all Rufus needed to say. He transformed into a cat and streaked off toward the back of the house.

"What made the neighbors call the Aurors?" he heard Rufus ask.

"They heard screaming, but there was nothing when I got here." The deep, soothing voice of the fairly new Auror took some of the chill out of the words, but Gawain leapt over the garden fence rather than wriggling through the lone gap.

Frank liked cats and left a hole wide enough for one to get through if he left out any bowls of milk and water, or left over fish paste. But since Frank didn't suffer from naivete, the fence had been taught to recognize and block all Animagi on the registry.

It was only once he entered the yard that Gawain looked back and saw the hole had been sealed. How long had it been since he'd visited? Only weeks, surely? But maybe...  
He pushed the guilt aside. He'd spend more time with them from here on out.

I'm in, he told the others via Speaking Spell, holding their faces as well as the message and incantation in his mind. There isn't a gap in the fence anymore, so no one could use that as a weak spot to break the rest of the wards.

Moody will be pleased, came Rufus's dry retort inside his head.

I'll assess the situation and find the spare key, Gawain sent back.

He ran to the back door, halting at the invisible-yet-present shield over the glass; his whiskers had twitched, sensing something before he smashed into it. He couldn't see anything beyond the glass, or hear anything apart from an unidentifiable buzzing.

There was a smear of red on the glass. Blood.

Transforming with his wand in hand, he thought, Appare vestigium, before shrinking into his feline body once more. The wards might have recognized him or they might not if they'd been at all tampered with, but having gotten in as a cat, he could risk a few spells. If there was a lookout, he reasoned they'd be a bit slow on the uptake with all these safeguards, meaning he, and therefore Rufus and Shacklebolt, had a slight advantage.

A swirl of golden light illuminated a hodgepodge of footprints, but he ignored them for now, staring with a cat's intensity at the blood. The tracking spell didn't touch it, which meant the blood either hadn't been caused by magic, or had been part of an event so saturated with magic there was no way to connect it to a single incident. One day, someone on the Experimental Charms Committee would invent something to provide enough details to create a complete picture.

The air around him revealed nothing, which only meant magical beasts or ghosts hadn't been here recently. So he stared at what he hoped was one pair of footprints, cursing whoever invented this spell until he saw Alice's shadowy afterimage. A masked and hooded Death Eater stood in her personal space with their wand out, but before he could study them further the images vanished.

His frustrated curse came out as a hiss. This was getting him almost nowhere.

He surveyed the flowerpots for any stray glint of metal. One of Alice's talking seedlings that her Head of House had gotten her into planting caught his eye. Quietly as possible he mewed at it, trying to convey he wasn't a cat—being friends with Alice incurred a healthy respect for Herbology.

When nothing happened Gawain walked over, peering and sniffing. He saw the glitter of metal buried in the dirt and bent his head to pick it up. A leaf snaked out, lightning-quick, and bopped him on the nose.

"Bad, bad, bad!" squeaked the plant.

He transformed, and still on all fours, snatched the key. Or tried to: Roots tugged it deeper into the soil out of sight.

"Key, please?" he asked as patiently as he could, remembering the trick to this defense at last—and that if he dug around after it the key would only get thrown back and forth between all sentient flowers in the vicinity.

"Name?" asked the plant.

"Gawain Robards."

"No!"

"Gawain Jonathan Robards."

Instantly the key reappeared on the top layer of soil, and the plant brushed off the earth before offering it to him.

Leaving the key in the lock, he sent by way of explanation, then unlocked the door, closed it, and performed the human-presence-revealing spell before changing back into a long-haired house cat. The sensation that his wand hand, or paw as it were, had brushed passed a curtain told him however many people were in the house weren't nearby.

He was halfway through his perusal of the living room, checking around and underneath upturned or broken furniture for... something, when the door eased open and Rufus and Shacklebolt entered, wands aloft.

"Where is that buzzing coming from?" Rufus asked no one in particular, and got no definitive answer.

"How many rooms left down here?" came the younger Auror's deep voice from above Gawain's head. Claws sheathed, he tapped Kingsley's leg three times: the kitchen, a small library, and a study. Upstairs was for family.

"I'll do that. You two take the second floor." It was a kindness, and they both recognized it.

Rufus's nod was curt, but he eyed the stairs with a fleeting look of relief before ascending them, the plush, purple carpet muffling his footfalls. Gawain gave a short purr before following. When they reached the top of the stairs they found the buzzing had reached its loudest volume yet, but the direction was unclear.

Regardless of whether every room on the floor was being used, potentially outnumbering them until Kingsley arrived, all logical and impromptu places for eavesdropping were effectively out.

They turned left. The nearest door was open, a spare bedroom they could see was empty from the threshold. They heard the next door open; Gawain darted in the room and streaked under a dresser while Rufus cast a Disillusionment Charm.

Two pairs of footsteps, one heavy one light, sounded into the hall. Their cleverness hadn't extended to hiding any sound between rooms, assuming the spell that created the damned buzzing could effect pure sound.

"Can't even fix a broken nose," a gruff voice muttered in disgust.

"It's different when it's your own," said a younger voice, also male. "And none of you were expecting her to use her fist either. At least I cleaned all the blood."

"At least we caught her before she Disapparated with her husband. C'mon, before we miss all the fun. We'll be able to partner up now with two of them to question."

A crack of Apparition, but only one, and inspiration came to Gawain. He slunk out of the room, the picture of a prowling cat, careful to keep in view, giving Rufus time to act.

The lone figure in the hall was choosing to walk rather than Apparate, perhaps forgetting they could, as their hands swung at their sides with pent-up energy or anticipation. They saw Gawain, and blinked. Not in recognition; while his name was on the registry, permission from the office was required to learn his markings and animal, a necessity of covert intelligence.

He pounced, intending to trip the Death Eater up, but the carpet rose beneath him, launching him even higher into the air.  
A Stunning spell from Rufus flew at the masked figure, who bent to scoop up Gawain in the cage he'd fallen into, Conjured to break his fall. The spell ricocheted harmlessly off the wall.

A wand rapped on the bars of the cage as it swung in the young Death Eater's grip, and Gawain shrank back, hissing, as a spark blazed briefly in his eyes.

"Unbreakable Charm," the Death Eater explained, "So you can't transform. A real animal would have reacted to the screaming by-"

The door at the other end of the hall opened and the man from before called, "Morgana's tits, Crouch, if all you were going to do was lead us to them you could have written bloody directions.", as the cage was Summoned from the Death Eater's—Crouch's?—hand.

Their assailant's wand swung wildly in Rufus's approximate direction.

Rufus, busy with the second's preoccupation of lowering and Vanishing the cage, crumpled to the floor as one of his legs gave way. Any sound of pain was drowned out by the screams that had been issuing from the room ever since the older Death Eater had emerged.

As Kingsley pounded up the stairs, Gawain transformed and Stunned the person called Crouch. The other man, thin and nervous-looking for all his talk, raised his wand, but Rufus, now visible, sent a spell over his shoulder. The full Body-Bind was still effective despite hitting the man's torso.

Two bodies hitting the floor hadn't gone unnoticed by the two remaining Death Eaters, the sudden silence doing nothing for Gawain's nerves. Had they Disapparated?

"Get in there," Rufus barked, jaw clenched, as Gawain and Kingsley made to move toward him.

Kingsley obeyed, the snap of command was powerful even when mustered through pain, but Gawain removed the mask and hood of the prone Death Eater. Rufus swore elegantly.

The boy under the vile garb was no more than nineteen, with straw-colored hair and freckled skin. Familiar straw-colored hair and freckled skin. He'd seen that face in a photograph on Barty Crouch's desk, and wearing a bored smile as he greeted people at the Ministry Christmas party.

Please, have been Imperiused for your father's sake, Gawain thought as he bound the boy's wrists in case the Stunner wore off before they got him into a holding cell, then strapped Rufus's leg tightly to a splint.

"TELL ME WHERE HE Is!" shrieked a sobbing woman as Gawain stepped over the other Death Eater and into the large bedroom. "YOU WERE IN LEAGUE WITH THE POTTERS, IMPRISONED HIM ON DUMBLEDORE'S ORDERS! I KNOW IT!"

A thickset man, who's eyes lifted from his bound hands to pierce Gawain with an alert gaze, stood nearest the door, his mask and hood, along with a matching set, in Kingsley's hands. The tear-stained witch had thick, shining dark hair, heavily hooded eyes, and stood straight and regal as a queen. Her hands were also bound, but she'd curled them into fists.

And then there were Alice and Frank, lying on the floor with glassy eyes, chests rising and falling. Such a powerful wave of relief swept through him that for a moment he felt light-headed.

"I have their wands," said Kingsley.

"Any idea who they are?"

Kingsley nodded at the woman. "Bellatrix Lestrange." He jerked his chin at the man. "That's her husband Rodolphus, and judging by the family resemblance I'd say Rufus put his brother Rabastan out of action."

"That saves us some time."

He let out a mirthless laugh. "It makes us look like gullible fools, Gawain. I filed the reports clearing the three of them of being Death Eaters months ago."

"TELL US WHAT YOU DID TO THE DARK Lord," Bellatrix ordered Frank and Alice, the title seemingly jolting her into speech.

"They can't tell us anything anymore, Bella," said Rodolphus flatly, as Gawain knelt on the floor.

"Frank? Alice? Can you hear me?"

Rodolphus snickered as Frank scratched his ear.

"July?" Alice croaked.

"It's November, Allie."

"July!" she insisted, her round friendly face, already drained of color, growing frantic with panic. "July! July! July! August ... Atsugua!"

He Conjured stretchers and settled her on one, then did the same with Frank as she fell silent and Frank started humming tunelessly. Kingsley meanwhile, chained the husband and wife together and led the way out.

Back out in the corridor, the stretchers dipped alarmingly at the sight of Rufus dragging himself along like a child learning to walk, away from whatever rooms they hadn't checked. Fortunately, Kingsley also stumbled, though at the sight of young Barty Crouch.

He lowered the stretchers and levitated Rabastan Lestrange and the teenager as he said, "Kingsley, chain him to the other side of the Lestranges before he falls."

"The house is empty," said Rufus, as Shacklebolt complied and Gawain resumed walking with victims and attackers. "The only other room of import was a nursery."

Gawain's stomach plummeted. But it wasn't their job to worry about the son, at least not yet. Preferably not at all.

"The bed in the crib is made, and the only magical traces I could find came from Alice and Frank. The boy," Rufus glowered at Crouch's son "never went into the room."

"Why would we attack a baby?" Bellatrix sneered. "We don't believe in fairy tales like Harry Potter."

Ignoring her, grim-faced, Gawain took Rufus's hand, and the eight of them vanished into oppressive darkness.

***

"It was the easiest interrogation I've ever done. The Lestranges feel they have nothing to hide or be ashamed of."

"And Barty's son?" Rufus asked. His wand arm rose reflexively off the bed, and he made a loose fist.

"Hasn't left Azkaban. Says he'll only talk to either of his parents. But the Lestranges say he found Frank and Alice's house and the records of protective enchantments Barty—our Barty—had put on it when Neville was born. And according to them he added those Gringotts wards to the front door, which his Hogwarts transcript backs up. He got an O on both his Charms and Muggle Studies O.W.L. and N.E.W.T."

Rufus shifted, eyes flicking to the door of the private room, before coming to rest on Gawain, curled beside him on the bed.

Rufus had been in St Mungos for two days, not counting the day of the arrest. While his leg had been mended, the damage he'd done by walking on a partially-successful cursed limb meant he was staying for strengthening exercises. Judging by his progress so far, he'd be leaving with a cane to help with exhaustion or inclement weather, and was handling the prospect of being away from work with more ill grace than Moody.

"Neville is the boy's name?" he asked finally.

"Yes. He was with his grandparents, thank Merlin. Still is, while the Healers look for a cure."

"Have Augusta and Liam seen them?"

Frank and Alice had been put on the fourth floor too, under close observation by Healers as well as in private quarters, with only family allowed to visit. This hadn't stopped the entire Ministry and half of Britain's civilians from sending cards, bouquets, and sweets care of the Longbottoms, and in Kaileen's case, bestowing assorted pasties, a raspberry sponge, and lamb stew on Frank's parents.

"I just saw them coming back from the tearoom. Liam stopped her from asking about the trial, so I take it there's been little improvement."

Rufus grimaced. He reached over to the bedside table for two rolls of parchment, brushing a white queen on the chessboard Gawain had brought—it wobbled and let out an outraged squeal.

"Take my report in? I don't trust something this crucial to owls even with a masking spell, and Moody said Barty's leaving the office early to be there for the Healers' home visits with Joanna Crouch. You or Shacklebolt can read it at the trial if it comes to it."

For all Barty Crouch Junior's charmwork, Kingsley's burn had been healed in a minute.

"Of course. Between the two of us you can recuperate in peace."

He nodded. "Does the office really not know about Shacklebolt getting engaged, or was his fiancee humoring me?"

Kingsley had been seeing a Healer for a little over a year.

"The latter. He's only told a few people. Rumor has it he's thinking of a non-traditional wedding ring."

"One cannot blame them for wanting to get caught up in a romance, I suppose," said Rufus a little hotly.

Gawain put a hand on Rufus's shoulder, kneading the tense muscle.

"I think it's more than good news at a time like this." Rufus leaned into the touch. "It's not just people in Magical Law Enforcement that are celebrating things. Dirk told me Tom Fawcett's wife brought their daughter—Sophie, or Sandra, or Sarah—to visit during lunch for the first time since she was born, and the man's a minor-level employee in the Pest Advisory Bureau."

"I'd like to say he shouldn't have had to worry, however..." he shrugged, and Gawain used the movement to let his hand slip down to cup Rufus's. He squeezed.

Little touches like this had steadied them both as early as last week. If the Lestranges were to be believed, one day the Dark Lord would rise again and throw them into another war. The idea was terrifying and somewhat plausible, but for the moment being in Rufus's presence was a stronger lure than an unsolved puzzle.

Footsteps paused outside the door and Rufus's hand tensed to pull away. When they moved on, Gawain leant nearer with a conspiratorial grin.

"Trainee Dawlish finished in the top twelve percent on Stealth and Tracking today. I watched from the viewing gallery. You were right that we'll only be able to use him in particular areas-"

"No forests."

"Really? Why?"

By the time the Healer-in-Charge rapped on the door to signal the extended visiting hour—a holdover from the war to accommodate Aurors schedules—was over, they were the image of impeccable workplace equals, and had come to a draw in their third chess match.

**Author's Note:**

> The Laughing Lynx is an invention of Raven's that we use in our RP, and co-fic writing that you may or may not eventually read.
> 
> Everything about Gawain's life and personality is invented between the two of us, since he's a name only character in the books (forget the films).  
> Finn, Connor, and Dougal are also an RP/CO-WRITING product, padding out the first war Auror canvas. The name of the Longbottom's house is my nod to Lewis Carroll and Linda Woolverton; the wards and ways to see/break them are mine, though I did happily flesh out Newt's tracking spell in Crimes, explaining why it wouldn't work for something like Wormtail's trick without a Niffler to aid with such a charm.  
> You won't find the talking seedlings anywhere but in my head (less dangerous than Mandrakes, but do more than Screechsnaps), or to my knowledge any story but this one linking Rufus's bad leg with the Longbottoms tragedy. Also, as far as I know, I'm the only one to suggest Rufus's odd eye color comes from Dark magic exposure, a theory based on Voldemort and Grendelwald's eyes and the idea that magic which messes with your principles exacts a physical toll. He wants Harry to WILLINGLY work for the Ministry, after all.
> 
> The Sacred Twenty-eight, and Faris Spavin are from Rowling's writings on the Wizarding World site. Before you search through Goblet, Mrs. Crouch is unnamed, and Leslie Shacklebolt brings us full circle to an RP idea.


End file.
